This came about during a mid-day coffee & OJ (he's guilty!!) break.
I won't recount the entire conversation, but it went along the lines of,
"Y'know, the only intelligible word I can say before noon is 'cigarette'."
Carrie then wondered what Methos would be like in the am. This is what we
came up with. Please note -- this is reeeely unflattering to Duncan.

by Caile Donachaidh Kane
Carrie Van Steenburg (Lady Reeana)

        Duncan banged on the door a second time. Sure, it was 4:30 in the
morning, and sure it was still dark for pete's sake, but he needed to
speak to Methos *now*. He knocked again, even louder.
        He was answered by what seemed to be a heavy object hitting the
other side of the door. Assuming it was a summons, he opened it and went
        A large black hiking boot reposed just inside the door, and
Duncan guessed it must be what had been thrown at it. Shrugging, he
flipped on the light.
        He ducked just in time as another boot came flying at his head.
        "I need to talk to you."
        "Fuck you."
        Duncan started to walk toward the bed, and the Globe Illustrated
Shakespeare hurtled towards him. He ducked again.
        "But it's really important!!" Duncan protested, pausing. He
looked at the bed.
        An amorphous mass huddled beneath the sheets, with one pale hand
resting threateningly on a lamp. "Fuck *you*," came the pointed reply.
        "What do I have to do to get you to talk to me?? Amanda walked
out on me again, and Richie knocked off another old friend, and well...
EVERYTHING SUCKS!" he expostulated. "And to top it all off, Joe turned
out gay after all."
        Very slowly, Methos sat up, hair sticking up wildly. He glared at
Duncan. "Beer."
        "Now that I have your attention...."
        "Fuck you. Beer."
        "I was kidding about the Joe part."
        The lamp barely missed him.
        "Look, I just need some advice," Duncan sighed. "You're supposed
to be all older n' wiser."
        "Bullshit. Beer."
        Shaking his head, Duncan walked to the fridge and opened it. It
contained a case of Pete's Wicked Ale and little else. Duncan took one
over to his friend.
        Methos opened the bottle with his teeth, and spit the cap at Duncan.
"What?" he sneered.
        Duncan pulled up a chair and sat back, and opened his mouth to
        "No," Methos said flatly, taking a hefty guzzle.
        "I didn't even ask yet!"
        "Well, see..."
        "Do...I... stutter? Noooooo."
        Duncan sniffed, a pained expression crossing his face. "But I
really do need somebody to talk to."
        "Sob story." He threw the empty beer bottle out the window. The
sound of the bottle breaking and the yowl of an alley cat immediately
        "Look, I don't want to sound whiny, but Amanda..."
        "Fuck 'er. Beer."
        Sighing heavily, Duncan obediently fetched another bottle. Methos
again spit the cap at him, and ran a hand through his hair. He made a
sound similar to a growl in the back of his throat, then gave forth a
rather spectacular belch. (Carrie's intervention:  Not exactly your dream
date, huh?) He grinned, nodding his head.
        "Duncan?" he said.
        "Get out."
        "But...but...but..." Duncan sputtered.
        "Shuddup, man, you sound like a motor boat."
        Methos swallowed the last of his beer, and threw the bottle out
the window. *thunk* *yowl* "Allow me to explain. Simply, so you can
understand. Now that I *am* awake, I am going to give you ex-act-ly five
min-utes head start. Then, I am going to hunt you down, and rip your lungs
out. Do you en-tir-ely comp-re-hend what I have just told you?"
        Duncan feigned a smile, backing toward the door. "Uh, sure. I'll
call ya later." He waved. "Allrighty then. B-bye now."
        He closed the door just as the bedside table hit the wall.
        Methos snuggled back under his covers, after flinging his alarm
clock at the light fixture and knocking out the bulb. He dreamed a sweet
dream about skinning Duncan alive, and awoke at noon with a smile.
        Duncan looked over his shoulder the whole way home.

**********the authors now run before they are fed to the ferrets.*********

C. 1997
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